Earthed

The day I sheltered there, there was no snow,
though snowy hair and winter thoughts had drawn 
me up past Tilton Wood and Pearson’s Wish. 
That autumn day I lay down at the foot 
of Bostal Hill, a miniature of all that lay above, 
and cried away my grief and all my love. 
 
The rhythm of the chalk, its roll and turn,
held me in a strong and timeless trance,
the comfort of the ground beneath Bo Peep 
and Jerry’s Pond. She who once was frozen
stone naps now in the hill, the giantess 
asleep before she wakes to dance.